Gilded
by swordandpen28
Summary: 16 year old Victoire Weasley is off to France! How will a down-to-earth witch from England survive in a school where thousand dollar robes and weekly parties are the norm?
1. Chapter 1

"It's not fair!" My cousin, Rose Weasley, says petulantly as I sit down at the magically enlarged breakfast table.

"What isn't fair, Rosie?" Another cousin, Roxanne, asks while I began loading my plate with Grandma Molly's decadent cooking. After living off my mom's pitiful attempt at French food for almost fifteen years, I take advantage of my Grandma's skills whenever I get the chance.

"Victorie's just rolled out of bed, and no offense Vic, but your hair looks like something the cat dragged in, yet she still manages to look loads better than the rest of us!" Rose pouts.

Stifling a yawn I say "Sorry honey, but I'm a quarter Veela. It kinda comes with the territory." The rest of my cousins laugh at Rose's dismissive 'whatever' face. We all know she's only joking after all.

Everyone keeps talking and eating but I'm not really paying much attention. 'Cause just then, in walks Teddy Lupin, drop dead gorgeous metamorphmageous extraordinaire. I've been nursing a crush on him all summer. Well, okay, probably longer. At least since _last_ summer, when he realized he could do more with his appearance changing powers than turn his nose into a pig snout. Like make himself incredibly hot. For example. It's a bit hopeless, really, this crush of mine. I mean, he's a year and a half older than me, and as of tomorrow we'll be going to different schools in different countries.

That's right. While the rest of my cousins and my little sister Dominique are boarding the Hogwarts express tomorrow, I'll be somewhere above France, in a carriage drawn by winged horses, on my way to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. The land of blue silk and etiquette.

Don't get me wrong. I was happy, _no_, ecstatic, about being accepted into the International Wizengamot's foreign exchange program. It's just that I had been hoping to be sent somewhere a bit…different. I mean, really! Beauxbatons? I've already been to France! My mum still has family there, for crying out loud! And the school itself couldn't be farther from my first choice; the Salem School for Young Witches and Wizards in America.

I didn't realize that I had been spacing out until Roxanne's twin brother Fred was speaking directly to me.

"You coming, Vic?" He says from the foot of the staircase that leads to the upper floor of shell cottage.

"Huh?"

Fred rolls his eyes at my absentmindedness. "Swimming, you git. Now hurry up and get your suit on, the girls won't let us leave without you!"

"Thanks Fred," I say sarcastically "it's nice to know I'm loved."

He winks at me and quips "No prob, Vic," before dashing upstairs.

Smiling to myself, I stand up and quickly scrape my plate into the trash. Then I rush up to my bedroom and rap on the door. Tomorrow morning I'll be on my way to France, but for now, I'm determined to enjoy the last day of summer languor and having my family close.


	2. Chapter 2

The moment I spin out of the emerald green flames and into France, my grandmother folds me into a tight hug. I hug her back, inhaling the cinnamony, citrus tinged scent of her perfumes.

After a moment of standing like that, blissfully embracing each other, we break apart and Grandmother steps back so she can look me over.

"Zat skirt eez very becoming on you, Victorie," she says in a French accent stronger than my mum's. The skirt is navy blue and falls to my knees. It's also shaped like a rectangle and is terribly ugly. The only reason I wore it was to please her and the only reason she likes it is because she bought it.

"Thank you Grandmother," I say in demure French. She always makes an effort to speak in English when I'm around, so I try to return the favor.

Grandmother continues almost as if I haven't spoken. "So much better zan zose 'orrible red jeans zat you wore ze last time you were 'ere."

I manage to turn my annoyed scowl into a polite smile and murmur "Mmmhmm," noncommittally, but I can't help but remember the cherry red skinny jeans that are folded neatly in my large steamer trunk. _They _don't scream "MY MUM DRESSED ME!"

"You 'ave grown too. Soon you will be to beeg for zat leetle eenglish 'ouse." Grandma Delacour is always petitioning Mum to move back to France. This is her subtle attempt at getting me on her side.

"I suppose Grandmother."

"Mmmmm, weel come on eento ze kitchen zen. Your Auntie Gabrielle and some boys from ze town are coming for deener. You can 'elp me with ze cooking." By help, she means I can sit on her spotless kitchen counter, eat half of what she makes, and maybe hold a spoon so that I give the vague impression of doing something.

"Sure thing Grandmother!"

"Good girl," she says as she kisses me on the cheek and glides into her kitchen.

Forty minutes later Grandmother wipes her hands on the apron she's tied over her lavender robes and carefully places a lid on the large frying pan simmering on the stove. I pop a sliver of uncooked mushroom into my mouth. While she's been cooking, she's also been answering every question that I fire off about my new school. So far, I've learned that Beauxbatons has better food than Hogwarts, better teachers than Hogwarts, and is just all around the best school of magic that there is.

Aside from that, I've been able to garner that the weather around the school is almost perpetually spring or summer-ish, quidditch isn't nearly as popular there as it is at Hogwarts, and the castle and school grounds are just as gorgeous as they make them out to be in the brochures. Of course, that could just be Grandmother's bias talking again.

There's also a start of term ball tomorrow night. When Grandmother told me that she had a dress for me to wear to it I very nearly threw up. The last clothes she bought me were a lime green knit sweater dress with pom poms the size of mangos. Then she revealed that Auntie Gabe had picked it out and I let myself breath again. My aunt might have taste that's a bit…flamboyant (to put it nicely) but I suppose anything is better than looking like a female version of Cornelius Fudge. She wouldn't let me see the darn thing though. Said it was to be a surprise.

"Oh Victorie," Grandmother is saying, "I am so glad you were accepted eento zat program! Now you weel get a proper education, and I just know zat you weel love Beauxbatons-"

I'm saved from making a semi-rude rebuke to her assertion that Hogwarts isn't a "proper education" by the soft chime of the doorbell.

"I'll get it!"

"Zank you, dear."

I can't wait to see my Auntie Gabrielle; I love my grandma too but all her anti-Hogwarts, girls-should-be-sweet-and-delicate beliefs tend to wear on you. Gabe has no such prejudices and her presence will help dilute Grandma's montage of them.

I'm already smelling her fruity perfume when I pull the door open. My face falls when instead of my aunt I'm greeted by the sight of three teenage boys.

My disappointment must be pretty obvious, because the tallest of the bunch, a blonde boy with a kind but slightly careworn look about him, cocks one sandy brow and says "Sorry, we didn't mean to ruin your good mood."

"Oh…um, No," I surprise myself by stuttering; normally I have no trouble talking to guys. It's just that he seems so sweet and sincere, even as he jokes. And unlike his companions, he isn't ogling my chest.

I cross my arms and wait for the other two to meet my eyes. By then I've got my composure back.

"Sorry, I just wasn't expecting you. Can I um…help you with anything?" I ask in flawless French.

"I'm sure you can," the second boy leers haughtily, giving me a once over. What's that even supposed to _mean?_ Creep. It occurs to me, in a very remote part of my mind, that he's extremely good looking. Then I mentally kick myself for thinking that. He flicks his dark, overlong hair out of his gray eyes and brushes past me into the entryway. Blondie and the last boy follow him, blondie shooting me an apologetic half smile. They start making a beeline for the kitchen. Since they are each lugging a large trunk, I figure that they're the town boys Grandma mentioned earlier. Either that or some very bold hobos who are about to get a taste of my grandma's Veela rage. I'm hoping for the later. Boy number two could definitely be knocked down a few notches.

Sadly, I'm to be disappointed, because when I return to the kitchen my grandma isn't hissing or throwing fireballs. Nope, instead, she's hugging each of the boys in turn. Seeing me standing in the doorframe, she smiles radiantly.

"Weel, presumably you 'ave all met already, but boys, this eez my granddaughter, Victorie." The pride is evident in her voice and it makes my insides swell just a little. The boys all nod politely.

"Victorie, this eez Edward Decoupage," the blonde guy nods at me and smiles. Automatically, I smile back.

"Tristan Bellsum." The third kid waves in a dorky-but-cute manner. He's handsome in a nondescript way. Definitely not ugly, his chocolate brown hair and eyes just don't make much of an impression on me. His features are inscrutable.

"And Orion Blake," the dark haired kid grins cockily and looks down his nose at me. What a snob. Ugh. At least I'll only have to deal with him for an hour or two while we eat.

"They weel be spending ze night with us and zen tomorrow you weel all fly to school togezer." Or not.


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner was a nightmare, but compared to the hellish twenty minutes preceding it, the evening meal was a cake walk. At least during dinner there was food to distract us. I place full blame on Blake. If it hadn't been for that git I think I really could have enjoyed Eddie and Tristan's company.

After the quick round of introductions, Grandma let the boys loose on her house with instructions to "take ze bags up to ze spare bedroom and show Victorie where Gabrielle's room eez please." This is the same woman who won't let me fly higher than seven feet in the air on my lovely racing broom.

I can see how they manage it though. The three of them, Blake included (I know it shocks the crap outta me too!) are perfectly charming in my grandmother's presence. If it wasn't a majorly creepy thought, I would almost say they were flirting with her.

"Right-o lads, let's get our trunks and a spot 'o tea!" Tristan exclaims in a faux-British accent that's so funny I don't know whether to laugh or act offended.

"Hey!" I smile, settling for a bit of both, "I do NOT sound like that!"

Blake mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "Bet you do when you're drunk" but I choose to ignore the comment. Seeing as confronting him about it would inevitably lead to me admitting that I've never had a drop of alcohol in my life, I find it prudent to remain quiet.

When I bend to pick my sky blue, canvas covered trunk up from its spot by the hearth, the git decides to tell me, and quite audibly too, I might add, what a nice ass I've got.

Immediately, I snap up and whirl to face Blake, ready to kill. I mean, that is _such _an obnoxious, objectifying thing to say! I've only been around him for ten minutes, tops, and already the guy pisses me off.

There's no need for me to slap the smirk off his stupid, aristocratic face, though, because Edward elbows him roughly in the ribs and tells him to stop being a jerk.

"Only for you, Eddie," Blake says as he rolls his silver flecked eyes. How Eddie can stand him is a mystery to me.

My pride is smarting just a bit because Eddie's made it look as though I can't fight my own battles (which I most certainly can, thank you very much!)and when he offers to carry my trunk upstairs for me I cling to it stubbornly and refuse snappishly.

"I'm sure I can manage it," I say coolly.

Then I realize that he's just done me a favor and that I'm not being exceptionally friendly so I work some warmth into my tone and add "Thanks though," as graciously as I can.

He smiles his cute, utterly genuine smile and I get a pleasing little tingle in the bottom of my stomach. Which quickly dies as I catch Blake leering at me. Ick.

I dump my trunk in the center of Auntie Gabe's quaint bedroom. The wall paper is rose and cream and all the linens match impeccably. It is, in no way, a reflection of her personality. My aunt is flighty and bold and exuberant and the room is, well…not. It seems to exude more of my own mum's personality, which makes sense because when they were younger the two of them shared the room. They still like to sleep in it whenever they visit.

Since I know Gabe will be here later, I'm reluctant to claim a bed, and seeing as I'll be leaving in the morning I don't see much point in unpacking anything.

I cross to the window and push the frothy, eyelet lace curtains to one side. The room is situated at the rear of the house and through the large glass panes I can see the spacious entirety of Grandma's well manicured lawn.

When Grandpa was alive, it was mostly covered in bright flowers, but after he passed away Grandma couldn't bring herself to replant it. A few plots near the house have vegetables growing in them, however, other than that, the rich, dark soil is bare. In the farthest corner of the yard, a magnolia tree decorates the ground with its pale pink petals. I'm not sure why, but my grandmother prunes the petite shrub obsessively. While dandelion heads sporadically dot the rest of the yard, the ground at the tree's roots is free of everything but soft, golf course quality grass.

Looking to the sky, I see the black silhouettes of three figures, tossing a quaffle- sized ball rapidly to one another. They're all flying splendidly, well enough that they could give many of the Hogwarts house teams a run for their money. For the first time since Blake and company arrived, my evening is looking up.

I absolutely love quidditch! In the summer, I fly everyday and I've been a centre chaser on the Ravenclaw house team since my second year. A damn good one too, I might add. For my birthday last year I got a Firebolt. It's practically in mint condition because I polish and maintain the tail every other day, at the very least. At the moment, it's secured cozily in my Grandma's eggshell blue clapboard broom shed.

After a minute or two of careful study, I determine that the person flying highest is Eddie. A tiny gasp escapes me as my eyes travel over his broom's sleek form. I would recognize that distinctive handle anywhere. Although I can't tell from this distance, I'm almost sure it's made of birch. The very tip of the handle is silver capped and shaped to resemble a _very_ blunt arrowhead. I'm positive his broomstick is a Silver Arrow! It's made by Nimbus co. but was discontinued in 2000 when the Nimbus 2000 was introduced. It's a first rate broomstick, infamous for being the only broom to reach higher altitudes than the Firebolt, as well as for it's steady flight; originals in flyable condition are extremely rare and exorbitantly expensive. If I had a choice between a Silver Arrow and my Fireblot it would be a tough call.

Still green with broom envy, I examine the lean figure that's flying at the front of the group. It's got to be Blake (ew); neither one of the other two has such ridiculously long hair.

It barely takes a second to recognize the broom he's flying, because it's mine! After spending hours plucking and clipping the tail twigs in a very specific and almost painfully precise manner, I am not about to mistake it for anyone else's! In seconds I've gone from seeing green to seeing red!

What a freaking prat! And the other two didn't even think to stop him when he took a broom that obviously wasn't his from the shed! This time there's no way I'm letting Edward handle this one. Blake is about to learn that _no one_ touches my broomstick, _EVER_!

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM, BLAKE?" I bellow at the asshole riding my prized Firebolt. Yes, I have a temper. Much as I would like to blame it all on my Veela blood, my mum says making excuses is for sods.

Blake turns sharply in the air to face me. So do Edward and Tristan.

"Holy shit," I hear Tristan mutter as he drops their quaffle, "I don't think I've ever heard a girl swear before."

That just makes me madder. I mean, can you say 'sexist'?

"And you two!" I hiss, glaring at him and Eddie. "You didn't even think to stop him when he took that broom out of the shed?" The look on Tristan's attractive face when he realizes my glare has now turned on him would be comical. If I weren't so damn furious, that is.

I storm across the yard, blades of grass pricking my bare feet. I didn't have time to slip shoes on when I was storming out to the yard in order to beat the crap out of Blake.

Eddie swoops down to meet me on the ground, Tristan on his tail.

"Hey, just calm dow-" he's cut off when I push roughly past him.

I march up to Blake and shove his shoulders. Hard. Actually, harder than I had meant to, because he stumbles back a few steps. Or maybe he's just a wimp. At the moment I don't really care much. I get up in his face and yank the Firebolt out of his hands. "Don't you dare touch my broomstick ever again, you got that Blake?" I snap murderously, "or I'll personally ensure that you'll never have any children!" Then I turn on my heel and stomp back towards the house, ignoring the scared, slightly reproachful looks I'm getting from Edward and Tristan. It'll take me ages to polish his grimy fingerprints off the mahogany handle.

Someone grabs my shoulder and yanks me backwards. I try to shrug their hand off but when their grip remains vice-like I twist back around to glare at them. It's Blake. Of course.

"Get your hands off me, you arse!" I growl. Sadly, most people don't find five feet of petite blonde girl very intimidating, even if said girl is steaming from the ears, as is made evident by Blake's next comment.

"You know you like it Weasley; you want my hands all over you." It takes all my self control not to slap him right there, or better yet, hex that smug smirk off his dumb face.

"The day I want you touching me will be the day the giant squid marries a flying pig!"

"What the hell?"

I hiss with frustration when I realize the improbability of that situation will mostly be lost on him. Then I decide actions are much more eloquent than words. And kick him down where the sun don't shine. Merlin, but it feels good to do that.

Of course, it doesn't feel nearly as good when I realize that my grandma is standing in the doorframe.

"VICTORIE WEASLEY!" Damn.

**Alrighty now, lets get some reviews! (please?)**


	4. Chapter 4

**From this chapter on, assume all dialogue not written with a French accent is in French.**

I _am_ self conscious about some things. My leg hair, for example. (Veelas, or quarter Veelas, for that matter, aren't supposed to have any, but I think my dad being bitten by a werewolf kinda canceled that out.) I just don't really pay attention to the things Grandmother thinks that I should be self conscious of. I could honestly care less about appearing 'ladylike.'

Due to this, most of her lecture falls on deaf ears. Besides, I'm still so mad at Blake that I can hardly be bothered to appear terribly remorseful or even mildly apologetic, like I should if I want any care packages at Beauxbatons.

The best I can manage is to keep my expression blank and not glare while my grandmother rants.

"I do not care what 'e said to you! I do not care eef 'e ripped every zwig off zat infernal broomstick-"

"Grandmother!" I protest.

"Do not eenteerupt, me young lady! What you did was completely uncalled for and you weel apologize to Orion or you weel spend ze rest of ze evening in ze bedroom!"

'OH, HELL NO!' I want to scream. Instead I take a deep breath, snatch my Firebolt from where it's leaning by the kitchen table, and stalk to the room my mum and aunt used to share. There is no way I'm apologizing to _him_.

I've just slammed the door and thrown myself to the floor by my trunk when the rocks start. At first, I ignore them; it's sure to be Blake and I don't feel up to listening to his inevitable gloating and taunts. Besides, what's more embarrassing than being put in a veritable timeout by your grandmother?

_Ping! Ping! Ping!_ One after another, three small rocks bounce off the window. I wrench my trunk open and grab my broom servicing kit from the top. As long as I'm being banished, I may as well be productive.

I'm working a soft cloth that's been used so often it's nearly worn through in places to wipe Blake's fingerprints off the Firebolt's handle when a fourth, larger rock hits the window so hard I can practically feel the glass rattle.

Grrr. If those gits keep this up they're liable to break the poor window. Then I'll have to pick glass shards out of the broom's tail.

Irritably, I flick my wand in the window's general direction.

"OWWW! What the-" I grin satisfactorily as Blake yelps, his insufferably superior voice tinged with annoyance. I've charmed the window so that anything thrown at it will be flung back at the thrower with twice the force. I'll just need to remember to take it off before any owls fly up or things could get, um…feathery.

After that, the irksome rock (and in some case, boulder) throwing stops.

So maybe Blake's smarter than he looks. _PLINK!_ Or maybe not.

I yank the frilly curtains to one side and glare down at the lean, dark-haired boy. Another rock is clutched in his hand, which is poised to throw. I'm impressed in spite of myself; he must have a fairly good arm if he's getting them all the way up here without magic.

"What the hell do you want?" I've cooled down a bit but I'm still seriously ticked.

"Look, Weasley, I'm sorry, alright? Eddie and Tristan are-" I pull the curtains shut and return to my broom. I've got no interest in hearing his insincere apologies. The dick messed with my broomstick, after all.

Just as I'm replacing my wood polish in its velvet –lined case, Grandma calls my name.

Her voice is gentler than I really have any right to expect but it's still got a bit of steel that forbids anything but strict compliance. My grandma may seem like a sweet, kind-hearted old lady on the outside, but at heart she's a military drill sergeant.

Sighing, I push myself off the wood floor and trudge to the kitchen.

Blake, Edward and Tristan are lined up there, heads bowed, identical expressions of up most remorse painted on their features.

"Victorie, ze boys explained what transpired to me and zey are all very sorry. Tristan and Edward deed not know eet was not Orion's broom and Orion deed not zink you would mind zat 'e tried eet out. Would you please forgive zem and apologize for being rude earlier?"_ You had better_. She doesn't say it but my grandmother's steely blue eyes convey the message quite clearly.

"Yes, of course Grandmother," I murmur, casting my eyes to the wooden floorboards and trying to look humbled and not as though I'd still enjoy smacking Blake. "Thank you all for apologizing. Eddie, Tristan, I am sincerely sorry I was so rude. Bla-" a look from Grandma stops me and I force myself to use his first name. "Err, Orion, I apologize for kicking you." I meant the first bit, but I hope Blake's limping for awhile.

Once the boys have mumbled their acceptance, we're all ushered into the dinning room by my grandma.

The elegantly carved table is so heavily laden with food that it seems to bow in the middle, and the heady aroma of roast chicken fills the room.

Somehow or other, I end up seated between Tristan and Edward, which makes the meal bearable.

Tristan is really quite funny. He's constantly making jokes, which eases the flow of the otherwise rather stilted conversation.

I also notice that all the boys are extremely polite eaters; they make me feel like quite the pig. Although they all have impeccable table manners, Eddie's seem less polished somehow, like he's unused to putting them into practice.

Since he and Tristan are behaving quite amicably towards me, I'm certain that, in their eyes, all truly is forgiven. But then, I didn't kick _them_ in the balls.

Wistfully, I think of Auntie Gabe. Having her here would lighten things up a tad. Surely, she should be her by now?

The thought's barley flitted across my mind when the doorbell chimes. I stand up to get it but Grandma waves me back down.

"No, no Victorie. You stay 'ere and eat. I weel get eet."

I know it's Gabe before she sweeps into the room because her perfect, bell chime laugh fills up the house. Next to me, Tristan perks up a bit.

"Oh, Maman! Eet eez so good to see you! I am so sorry I am late, I was 'eld up at ze shop and zen-"

"Eet eez fine, Gabrielle. Come and get somezing to eat, I am sure you are 'ungry." Next to her daughter, Grandma is about as vibrant as Crookshanks, Aunt Hermione's hundred year old cat.

"Oh no!" Gabe exclaims as their footsteps near the dinning room, her high heels clicking in sharp contrast to Grandma's soft tread. "I am so seely! I forgot you were making deener and I 'ave already eaten!" It's so like Gabe to forget something like that. She was probably late because she went out to dinner with her newest beau.

Then, she's here, her willowy form framed by the doorway, lighting up the room with her silvery glow. I feel my mouth moving to mirror her brilliant smile.

People say Gabe and I could be twins, but we really couldn't, not if you look close. Whereas she's tall and slim, I'm a bit on the shorter side and more muscled, from all the quidditch. Her features are refined and delicate, mine are rougher and somehow bigger.

There are other, subtler differences too. We both have long, slim fingers, but her hand's are small, perfect for the meticulous needle work she does in her couture robe shop. Mine are large enough to easily palm a quaffle. I have a very faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose. Her complexion is alabaster.

Quite frankly, Gabe is prettier than me. Mum says it's because she's got more Veela blood, which suits me just fine. It simply means that I can normally pretend the gene pool's just been nice to me and my grandmother isn't an insanely beautiful magical creature.

"Vicky!" Gabe cries, floating across the room to kiss me on both cheeks. I hug her as best I can when I'm sitting and she's standing above me.

She greets the boys similarly. I have to kick Tristan under the table to stop him from drooling. The silly boy blushes and smiles sheepishly towards me. In reasons why I'm glad I'm a quarter, not a half, Veela, Tristan is exhibit A. I doubt he would be able to joke and laugh around me like he does if I looked like _that_.

Even so, I always worry that people only go for me because of my looks. It's the main reason why almost all my friends at Hogwarts were my cousins or family friends. I don't want to be just some empty headed, pretty, ditz and I don't want people to see me as that either. With my family, I know I'll never have to wonder about that.

Of course, getting perfect O's on all my O.W.L.s probably helped with that perception, too. Sadly, the only reason I worked so hard for those grades was because I didn't want a dumb blonde reputation.

An hour and a half later, I'm sitting in the bedroom, wearing boy shorts and a tank top embossed with the Ravenclaw coat of arms, tucking my long, silvery blonde hair into a simple braid to prevent it from smothering me while I sleep.

Gabe comes into the room, holding a garment bag. Oh boy.

"Vicky!" She singsongs, "Maman told you about ze dress, yes?"

"Mmmhmm. She said you picked it out." Thank Merlin.

"Not just peeked eet out, I made eet!"

"Oh wow! Thanks Auntie Gabe!" Please-don't-be-poofy-please-don't-be-poofy, I pray.

"Don't zank me yet, seely! Wait unteel you 'ave seen eet!"

With a flourish, she unzips the garment bag and draws out the prettiest, non-poofy, dress I have ever seen. It's made of shimmery, gold lame and free of the lace and gigantic bows that festoon so many of Gabe's other creations.

"Eet eez not exactly avant-garde but I zought you would prefer somezing seemple."

"It's perfect, Gabe!" Normally, I don't care much how I look or what I wear, so long as it's comfy, but I know Gabe wants me to gush and it really is a pretty bit of work.

Her bright smile tells me my reaction has been spot on.

"Weel come 'ere and try it on zen!"

I twirl in a gentle circle and the dress flares around my thighs. It's fitted down to me hips, where it flares out just slightly.

Gabe squeals happily and I blush.

"Oh, you are a vision!"

Still blushing, I murmur thanks and smile at my reflection.

"You don't mind zat eet eez not so formal, do you? Most of ze ozer girls weel 'ave floor length gowns and zat one only comes to your knees-"

"No, no. This is splendid, Gabe," I assure her, affectively cutting off the babble. I don't mention that I think this simple dress is pretty dang formal in and of itself, having never owned another one in my life. Even at Aunt Ginny and Uncle Ron's weddings, I just wore a nice blouse and a skirt and no one cared either way.

Gabe _must_ be mistaken on the other girls wearing evening gowns, though. Maybe they did when she was in school, but there's no way the tradition's carried on. I'll probably look a bit overdressed.

"'ere," Gabe is saying, "just let me get you ze shoes and you can show Maman and ze boys."

She flicks her wand and conjures up a pink shoe box with some French label scrawled across it in flowing cursive. Gulp.

Pulling off the lid, she produces a pair of very scary gold stilettos. They're delicate and strappy, and at least four inches tall; the kind that guarantee a sprained ankle.

Yeah, that whole Veela grace thing? I think it skipped me. It's kinda funny, because I'm great on a broomstick, which is all about balance, but on the ground I might as well have flippers.

"Aww, Gabe, you know my coordination's no good. Can't I just wear a nice pair of flats or some-"

"No." Her jaw's set and I can tell that nothing I say will change her mind.

I can't help but try to make an appeal, though, however futile.

"But I'll hurt myself, and the quidditch trials begin really soon after the start of term!"

Gabe narrows her sapphire eyes. "You do not need your feet and ankles for quidditch; eet eez a flying sport!" No, duh.

"Well, yes, I suppose that technically that's true, but you still need to kick off the ground and I can't try out if I can't walk to the pitch," I improvise.

My aunt smiles triumphantly. "Weel, zat eez not a problem zen; you can just 'ave someone carry you. Now come 'ere and I weel 'elp you get zem on."

Damn it.

Unable to argue with her logic-less logic, I allow Gabe to strap me into the glittery little deathtraps. She helps me wobble to the door, me whining and protesting all the way.

"Quiet yourself, Victorie!" she finally snaps in a pitch perfect imitation of Grandmother. "Eet does not become a young lady to complain so!"

"Psh, like I care," I mutter under my breath.

Gabe laughs instead of berating me like real Grandmother would. There's still a ghost of a smile on her rosebud mouth when she opens the door and runs straight into Blake.

"Excuse me, Gabrielle," the sod smiles winningly, "but I was wondering if I could speak to Victorie?" Damn it! I haven't had a chance to tell her what an insufferable snob he is yet! I plead with my eyes for her not to leave.

Gabe smiles and throws me a wink that says she thinks she's doing me a favor. Then she slips out of the room. Much as I'd love to follow her and avoid an unpleasant conversation with Blake, I can't. If I do, the heels WILL KILL ME.

"What?" I snap; the faster this is over with, the better.

"Hang on," he has the gal to tell me, "I'm not done looking at you yet." Coming from some other bloke (say, Teddy Lupin?) that might have been complimentary, or maybe even sweet, but coming from Blake, it's just icky. I'm suddenly feeling quite conscious of the V neck of my dress, which dips just low enough to expose a sliver of my plain white bra.

Merlin, I'd love to kick him again. It'd probably hurt him more this time, on account of the stilettos, which would make it worth the lecture I'd be sure to get. Then again, I'm not entirely sure I can balance on one tiny heel for anything longer than half a second.

Deciding the risks outweigh the benefits (plus I'm just not _that_ mean), I settle for snapping violently in front of his face.

"My eyes are up here," I gesture viciously. "Now either talk or sod off."

"Whatever. I just came up to say that I really am sorry for taking your broom earlier. I just didn't think you'd mind-"

"Mind? It's a freaking Firebolt! How could I _not_ mind?"

Blake actually looks rather affronted by this outburst, which just goes to show how much of an idiot he really is. "Well, I mean, I figured, since you can't actually fly it-"

"Why would I fork over the hundred galleons for I Firebolt if I couldn't actually fly the damn thing?"

His striking features resume their former air of haughty arrogance. "You wouldn't be the first girl to do it. They want a nice looking broom and they've got money so they but a Firebolt, but then they realize they can't handle a real racing broom and have to go back to their Cleansweeps and Comets."

Don't take the bait, Victorie. Stay calm. Take deep breaths.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean? You had better have a damn good explanation for what you just said, Blake, because that was the biggest load of_misogynistic_, patriarchal, sexist, chauvinistic shit I have ever heard!" Yeah, I took the bait.

He just laughs in my face and saunters down the hallway towards the guest room. Some apology.

Seething, I rip the stupid heels off my feet and slam the door shut behind him. Much as I would love to go give him a piece of my mind, I know it's not worth it. I can just tell he's one of those guys who have had everything their whole life, who's used to getting away with being an arse. I'm not even going to bother trying to change him.

A few minutes later, Gabe makes a reappearance. I'm a little annoyed with her for leaving me alone with Blake, but it's not really her fault. I'm sure there are plenty of girls out there (stupid, superficial girls) who would love to be alone with him.

Instead of buzzing with nervous anticipation like I should be, I go to bed furious. And tomorrow I get to spend three hours in a nice small carriage with _him_. Splendid.

My only rays of salvation are Eddie and Tristan. Their presence seems to have a mildly civilizing affect on him. Then, I realize that after that little tryst, Blake will probably spend the night badmouthing me to them.

Sighing, I resign myself to my fate and console myself with the fact that Beauxbatons is a big school and I'll probably never have to speak to him after the carriage ride.

Nonetheless, I can't get his stupid, smirking face out of my head as I drift off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

It feels like my head has barely hit the pillow when gray predawn light is poking through the curtains and Gabe is nudging me awake.

"Ugh…whatimesit?" I mumble blearily.

Gabe smiles her crazy, morning person smile. "Four-zirty, seely! You 'ave to get up now or you weel miss ze carriage."

"Oh, well, alright then," I slur agreeably. "Would you mind leaving so I can get dressed?"

Gabe laughs for no particular reason and floats out of the bedroom.

I use my wand to bolt the door behind her and bury my face in a pillow. A nervous tickle of anticipation dances in the back of my head, but it's soon smothered by my drowsy mind.

It takes about thirty seconds to fall back to sleep. Five minutes later, Grandmother is rapping sharply on the door.

"Victorie! What eez taking you so long? You weel be in a carriage for ze next two hours. No one cares 'ow you look!"

UGH. I roll over and scream that I'm coming in the direction of the door. I hate waking up early.

Not wanting to tick Grandma off anymore, I rush to pull on a loose pair of sweats and a fitted Holyhead Harpies Tee. Aunt Ginny played seeker for them for years so I have tons of Harpie memorabilia and paraphernalia. Plus, they're just an awesome team. I was practically high off excitement when Aunt Ginny got the team to sign my quidditch robes a few years back. Definitely one of my better birthday presents.

I look madly around the room, wondering if I'll need anything in the carriage. Deciding the trip can't be _that_ long, I go for the bare necessities, snatching my wand up my wand and shoving it into my waistband.

There's a hurried breakfast of toast and oatmeal, quick goodbyes where I catch a glimmer of tears in Grandmother's eyes, and then Gabe is calling "Ze carriage eez landing! 'urry on outside, you lot!" and we're being ushered out onto Grandmother's spring green lawn. I'm grateful that our trunks will be flooed to the school, because mine is heavier than it should be and I don't really want to carry it.

The carriage looks like something out of a fairytale, with its pale blue and white panels and gold trim. The Beauxbatons crest, a royal blue shield overlaid with two crossed wands shooting golden sparks, is displayed prominently on its door.

It does have wheels, which I'd been wondering about, seeing as it's made for flying, but they don't look as though they see much use. Their paint is snowy white and they're covered in delicate gold filigree that wouldn't last longer than a minute on a gravel road.

Hitched to the front are two gorgeous winged horses. They look as though they've been powdered with gold dust and their wings glint with drops of dew. The one on the right snorts and tosses its silky mane, pawing the ground in a gesture of obvious impatience. Its partner angles its large head to look back at us. Involuntarily, I take a small step back, my eyes wide. Eyes as red as holly berries stare unsettlingly back at me. I've never really been good with animals, and those eyes are just creepy. It's as though they're staring at you from a pool of blood, which is something else I'm not to fond of.

Blake, the bloody git, laughs at my reaction.

Determined, for some nonsensical reason, to show him up, I boldly step forward and rest my palm on the beast's velvet nose. It blinks, covering its shining eyeballs, and I take the opportunity to step back. When it reopens its eyes I get a little shiver down my back. That thing is going to be all that keeps us in the air for the next two hours. Oh, Merlin. I feel myself start to panic just a bit and clamp down on the feeling.

Tristan clambers into the carriage. Blake follows him with a bit more grace.

Eddie steps up then smiles down at me, extending a hand. Even though I'm perfectly capable of getting up myself I fold my fingers around his, and experience a pleasant little rush of warmth at the contact. At the moment, I'm glad nothing ever came of my crush on Teddy, because if it had I'd feel terribly guilty about my body's response to Eddie's gentle smile.

I'm settling into the plush interior of the carriage when Gabe lets out a little yelp. Concerned, I poke my head out of the window. The horses ruffle their feathers, preparing to take off, and she yanks on their bridles sharply.

"Maman, come 'ere and 'old their reins! I need to dash eenside and grab somezing for Vicky!"

Gabe dashes away and when she returns, she shoves a thick sheath of paper at me through the window.

"Now you can leave," she says, kissing me quickly on the cheek.

I snap the window shut and feel my stomach drop as we begin to soar. Around me, the boys settle themselves and make like they're going back to sleep. I begin reading the sizeable packet Gabe gave me.

I'm filling out a questionnaire that will determine what dorm I'm in or something of the like. Its part of the packet Gabe was supposed to mail me when I was accepted into the foreign exchange program at the start of the holidays, but forgot about until just now. I love my aunt, but really. Sometimes she's such a ditz.

**Name: Victorie Marie Weasley**

**Birth date: May 2, 2000**

**Ethnicity: Caucasian **

The next question makes my blood boil.

**Blood status:**

Even after the second bloody war, that's still included in this survey. I know that, by law, I'm not required to answer it and I don't. It's little things like that that fuel discrimination and segregation. Why the hell does it matter if I'm part Veela or my mum's cousin was a muggle or a squib? My family may be a bit more passionate about muggle and muggleborn rights than most, seeing as they played such a prominent roll in the war, but to include a question like that is a blatant insult to everybody who worked so hard to take down Voldemort.

Clenching and unclenching my hand around my eagle feather quill, I move on.

**Hobbies: Quidditch**

It's quite sad, but I really can't think of anything more. I suck at gobstones and I've never had the patience for chess. I do like a good book but I'm not so avid a reader to call it a hobby. After a moment of deliberation, I put down flying, just so my list of interests doesn't seem so narrow and pathetic.

**Best Subject: Transfiguration **

That ones quite easy; I think the subject is fascinating and I was top of my class at Hogwarts.

**Worst Subject: Astrology**

I honestlyabhor potions, but I'm not really terrible at it. While I can generally stomach stargazing, I'll never be able to read anything from the celestial bodies.

Two tedious pages of questions later and I've reached the last one of the list. While I've been working my way through them the boys have roused themselves and started a game of exploding snap. If they were playing something else, I might be tempted to set aside my quill and join them, but snap and I haven't really gotten along since I was twelve. Two inches off the bottom of my tresses and the smell of burnt hair followed me for a week. James and Albus both laughed at me. Thank Merlin that Lily's handy with a hair spell.

"What's a word to describe me?" I ask the carriage at large.

"Bitchy," comes Blake's immediate reply.

I dutifully ignore him.

Tristan cocks his head to the side and makes a big show of stroking his nonexistent beard.

"Opinionated," he finally decides.

"Yeah, that seems about right," Eddie agrees, focusing on his hand of volatile cards.

I scribble opinionated down in the little line provided.

"Which is basically the same thing as bitchy," Blake quips. Holy crap, that boy is annoying.

Gracing him with a glare, I say "No, it's not. Being bitchy is generally a bad thing. Being opinionated isn't."

He smirks. "It is if you're a girl."

ARGH! The nib of my quill breaks, leaving a dent in my paper and an angry ink splotch that I can't be bothered to blot out. Blake continues smirking while I struggle not to throw something at his head.

"That was out of line, mate," Tristan says reproachfully.

"Whatever," Blake rolls his eyes carelessly, "you two were thinking it, you just didn't have the guts to say it."

Eddie and Tristan are awash with protests, looking at me as though they're concerned that I might detonate as explosively as one of their cards.

I push the curtains to the side and look out the window, ignoring them. It's too early to deal with Blake. Soon enough, they return to their game.

Is it just me, or is the ground getting closer? Mentally I do some quick calculations. We should be about thirty minutes away from Beauxbatons right now. It seems a bit early to start the descent, but what do I know?

Eddie peers over my shoulder and confirms that my eyes aren't just playing tricks on me.

"We're getting close to the school, guys. And Victorie." I smile at the window when he says my name.

The other two nod and start clearing their game away, bantering back and forth like brothers.

I turn back to the window. Stretching below us, a sparse forest spans. We're close enough now that I can pick out pine and oak trees, intermingled with silvery birch leaves. The shadows beneath their bows are light and small, and the overall aura is much friendlier than the forbidden forest at Hogwarts.

A large, grassy clearing rises up to meet us, and I see that it's already accommodating five other carriages, identical to ours.

As the wheels hit the ground, I realize that I am _really, really_ nervous. I have never been the new kid, ever. Even as a first year I had Teddy around to show me the ropes, and I've lived in shell cottage all my life. It's rare for me to talk with anyone outside my family, even at Hogwarts. Here, I know nothing and no one. Well not no one, I suppose. I have been getting on fairly well with Eddie and Tristan and I suppose you could count Blake as an acquaintance, if you were feeling generous. Still, I'm an outsider in this situation.

Oh, Merlin. I am so screwed.

Then Blake pushes the carriage door open and my breath catches in my throat.

The clearing is gorgeous, so perfect it could almost be a scene from a children's fairytale. The grass has been cropped short and is dotted with purple and yellow wildflowers. Overhead, I see at least two dozen other carriages circling like glittering birds. It would be quite idyllic, if it weren't for the students milling about, filling the air with useless babble.

As soon as we're safely on the ground, our horses spring back into the air, nearly decapitating some poor, unsuspecting redhead in the process. Other carriages are taking off just as quickly, and the clearing is rapidly filling up with students. I'm jostled between Eddie and Tristan, who are standing at either side of me.

"Ro!" A wisp of a girl cries her friend's name happily as she darts past us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Blake stiffen. EWWWW! Why am I even watching him out of the corner of my eye? Bleh. I give myself a little mental slap, and remember he's only attractive when he isn't speaking.

Eddie shepherds us into the dappled light under the trees, our feet crunching on the crushed shell path. There's one just like it at shell cottage, but it's been walked on so frequently that the seashells are barely discernible from ordinary gravel.

Students wave and smile at the boys and nod my way when Eddie introduces me. Most of them seem fairly friendly, or at least extremely polite, but I get quite a few glares from the girls Blake pauses to flirt with. Inwardly, I sigh. I've been getting looks like that since my third year.

A few minutes of leisurely walking and a fair number of mini reunions later, our path intersects with three others, and then widens to accommodate the increased flow of students. It's grown big enough to for ten students to easily walk shoulder to shoulder across its width.

French chatter fills the balmy air. The kids streaming out of each of the smaller paths have slightly varying accents; as if they come from different parts of the country.

The trees begin to thin, and then come to a rather abrupt halt, affording me my first glimpse of Beauxbatons.

The school's main building is almost all pearly white marble, a shining testament to magical architecture, glinting in the midmorning sun. Hogwarts is a castle, but Beauxbatons is a palace. A really, really stunningly beautiful palace. For the first time, excitement untainted by apprehension bubbles up inside me. I know Hogwarts like the back of my hand, thanks, in part, to James magical map, but I'm positive Beauxbatons is housing hundreds marble catacombs, just waiting to be explored.

As we near the school, I can make out the faces of angles carved into the sides of turrets and towers, taking the place of the gargoyles that can be found guarding Hogwarts. Most of the windows on the lower floors depict gorgeous, constantly changing scenes, illustrated in vibrant stained glass.

Above the enormous main doors, a pane of blue glass shaped like a shield wields the Beauxbatons crest. The doors themselves are carved of a dark wood that contrasts splendidly with the pale stone they are set in. Pockets of whorled glass glint like diamonds, teasing me with warped glimpses of my new school's interior.

Tristan and Eddie point out different features of the grounds for me.

"Well, the trees we just came from are the border forest, and they ring the entire grounds."

"Helps deter overzealous muggles," Tristan explains helpfully.

Eddie confirms this with a nod and continues his tour. "That little copse of ash trees," he gestures to a cluster of five or six small trees, "is home to the crystal pool. The bottom's full of precious gems, but school rumor has it that it's haunted."

"That didn't stop you from diving in, did it now, Eddie?" Tristan chuckles.

My interest piqued, I turn to Eddie. "How'd that go?"

He grimaces. "Not well; no matter how long I swam, the bottom wouldn't get any closer."

Laughing, Tristan says "the git forgot to reapply his bubblehead charm and passed out! Lucky for him, Ryan and I were there to save the day."

I don't think that's particularly funny, but Eddie laughs good-naturedly so I don't make a big deal of it.

"Wait, who's Ryan?" I ask, wracking my brains and hoping he isn't one of the kids I've just met. Wouldn't that be embarrassing?

"That would be me," Blake informs me. That makes sense. Orion. Ryan. They're similar enough. That must be his nickname.

Well, great. That means he probably hangs out with Eddie and Tristan regularly. Meaning if I want to continue what I think is growing into a fine camaraderie, I'll have to put up with him. Splendid.

Without my realizing it, we've reached the foot of the palace's steps. It's even more opulent from up close. Hardly a scant inch of marble has been left free of carved grandeur or unbedecked by sparkling semi-precious gems. The students, their hair mussed from travel, clothed in rumpled sweats and loose shorts, look odd against its backdrop. Nobles in stiff finery would appear more natural.

"C'mon," Blake says, shouldering his way through a group of tiny twelve year olds, "Let's get inside." He sounds so superior, like he's entitled to a clear path to the entryway. I look at Eddie and Tristan, wondering if they're as irked by his seniority abuse as I. If they are, the pair mask it easily.

I try to smile apologetically at the second years to make up for it, but they look at me as though I've suddenly sprouted a wolf's muzzle. Oops.

We follow Blake into a vaulted entrance hall. It's lit by a monstrous chandelier that's dripping crystals and even as I'm consumed by awe, I can't help but think that Hogwarts' enchanted ceiling is far more pleasant.

Five arched halls split from the main one. I trail Eddie, Blake and Tristan down the one with the words "West Wing" embossed over it in tempered silver.

Inside is a large, rectangular antechamber. Each wall is dominated by three huge bay windows, making the space seem open and airy, like the Ravenclaw common room. Deep blue drapes, made of velvet and pulled back by heavy looking golden tassels, obscure the remaining stone. Small groups of couches, chairs and settees are placed regularly around the room's perimeter. Some of these are already occupied, mostly by older students who've already changed into their powder blue silk robes.

"Why don't you two head up to our rooms and I'll show Victorie around a bit?" Eddie asks his friends.

My heart speeds up as they walk away from us; heading towards one of the two staircases that split off from what I'm assuming is the West Wing's common room.

A shadow crosses Eddie's face as he turns his blue eyes on me. "Oh. Um, you don't mind do you? If you do I can run to catch up with them; I'm sure you'll be able to find someone else to point the way for you, or-"

Laughing to myself, I cut his babble off. "Of _course_ I don't mind," I say lightly, looping my arm through his and smiling. "Lead the way!"

He flashes a set of adorable dimples at me, which makes me blush like some crazy fangirl.

"Great. So, umm…" he's so cute when he's flustered! Look at that, he's going all pink! Oh! I should probably listen to the words he's saying, instead of just staring at the mouth that's making them!

I chide myself back to reality. Thank Merlin Eddie's lecturing quite devoutly, and hasn't noticed my momentary lapse into ditzziness. "I think you call them houses at Hogwarts, yes?" I nod.

"Right. Well, France has been divided into four regions, and instead of splitting people up based on their personality traits, Beauxbatons divides them based on the geographic region they live in." I nod to show I'm listening and Eddie continues. "Since we live in the western region, we stay in the West Wing while we're at school. I think it makes a bit more sense our way, wouldn't you agree?"

I almost nod, but catch myself. Eddie may be Cute, but I retain a good bit of deeply ingrained loyalty to my school of five years. "Not really! The Hogwarts way, you're guaranteed to have _something_ in common with your dorm mates! Just because you live near someone else doesn't mean you're going to share, um, personality traits."

"Well, we'll have to agree to disagree. The Beauxbatons way, your roommates are also your neighbors, so you can easily see them out side of the school's confines. Besides, you did fill out a survey, didn't you?"

I nod grudgingly.

"All your roommates will have filled out the same thing, and they try to put people with similar answers together." Eddie grins down at me triumphantly.

"Oh fine, you win," I grumble. I'm rewarded by his genteel laughter.

I catch my thoughts wandering back to his brilliant smile just in time to save myself from stumbling on the first stair of a sweeping marble staircase. The face of each step is etched with a scene from "The Fountain of Fair Fortune," and Asha, Altheda and Amata look up indignantly at me as my sneaker clad toe clips their tiny heads. It's a bit odd to have storybook scenes decorating such a swanky flight of stairs, but I suppose they were the only thing the stone masons could think of that wouldn't offend anyone. Merlin forbid political incorrectness.

Edward takes each step energetically, still talking to me over his shoulder. "Anyways, as you've probably figured, there's also a North, South and East Wing. Students from each wing can visit other wings, unless they do something stupid and get themselves banned. Ryan, for instance, was banned from the North Wing last year."

"Why?" I ask zealously, hungry for ammunition I can use against Blake.

Eddie laughs. "Sexual Harassment." Seeing my appalled face, he quickly adds "he didn't do anything, not really. The North Wing guys just got tired of their girlfriends ditching them."

I roll my eyes. "That figures. Now keep going," I prod him.

"Well each wing has a parlor, which we were just in, and two towers containing boy's and girl's dormitories. We're walking up the girl's tower at the moment and the boy's is adjacent."

"Hmm. So guys are allowed up in the girl's tower?" I muse aloud. It makes me a bit curious about the people who configured that arrangement. I'd bet anything they were male.

"Yeah, and visa versa," Eddie tells me. "The first floor of the tower has first year rooms, the second, second year rooms, and so on. Your chambers will probably be empty because everyone fifth year and up is already down in the parlor visiting, but you'll have three roommates, unless you get lucky and one of the girls forked over the extra cash for private accommodations." He sounds wistful and a little bitter when he says it, and I feel bad for keeping him from his friends.

When I say so he looks much abashed and says I've misinterpreted his tone and that it's his pleasure to show me around. Quite the gentleman, Eddie's turning out to be, particularly away from his friends. Or one friend in particular. Ahem. Blake.

We're only a few stairs away from the first landing when Eddie lays a hand on my shoulder, making me stop. He leans down so that his warm breath tickles my ear and raises the invisible hairs on the back of my neck, speaking in a low whisper. "The dorm matron's desk is right up there. Her name's Madame Rost and she's got a pole up her arse." I stifle a laugh. "Just be polite. The woman's an insatiable gossip so her first impression of you will taint the first impression everyone _else_ gets of you."

I frown, as little things I've spotted in the past hour begin to sink in. The way nobody batted an eye at Blake's treatment of those second years. The way all the students seem to hail to those older and better dressed than them. Beauxbatons is shaping up to be a Court of Versailles, where a strict social hierarchy rules everything, and I'm beginning to think, one where I, as a foreigner and newbie, will be at the bottom.

Well, crap.

**Note: "The Fountain of Fair Fortune" is taken from the Tales of Beedle the Bard **


	6. Chapter 6

Eddie walks me to the dorm matron's desk, but her fierce, bespectacled glare quickly sends him scurrying. I wish he'd stay, because having his arm brush up against mine while we ascended the stairs made me feel wonderfully safe. Without him at my side it feels like my Englishness is causing me to stick out like a sore thumb.

I fidget uncomfortably as the dorm matron turns her sharp green eyes on me. It's those cold, judgmental eyes, as well as the peculiar way she's styled her gray-streaked hair; an odd twist that gives the impression of a set of pointed ears, that lend Madame Rost the appearance of a cat. A really mean, but impeccably groomed cat.

She blinks and I collect myself, straightening my back to mimic her severe posture.

Then I step up to the desk. It's a simple cherry wood affair. The surface reflects its occupant; no frivolous personal items and very little clutter. The few things that are there; a thin notebook, a minimalistic inkwell and basic quill, and a tray of neatly stacked paperwork, are arranged at such exact right angles that I wonder if Madam Rost has a protractor tucked in the high collar of her navy blue robes.

The dorm matron purses her thin lips, a thousand judgments flashing through her eyes as she surveys my slightly disheveled appearance.

From the way she stares down her sharp, thin nose at me, I'm positive she's deemed me to be below par.

I almost find myself wanting to apologize for disappointing her. Then, she begins speaking in a reedy, nasal voice that is just dripping with condescension and I stop feeling sorry.

"And who might you be, young lady?" Jeez! And I though Grandma Delacour could be scary!

"My name's Victorie Weasley, Ma'am." I fish the packet Gabe gave me out of my cotton shoulder bag and offer the ream of paper to the matron. "I'm a foreign exchange student from Hogwarts."

Madame Rost gives my forms a cursory glance before tapping them with her slender wand and returning her piercing cat eyes to my face. "Your penmanship leaves much to be desired, Mademoiselle Weezley." She pronounces my surname oddly, making it sound like a sneeze. Don't you just love France?

"Sorry, Ma'am," I say.

"Madame Rost!" She corrects me sharply. "You are in France now, Mademoiselle Weezley, and you shall address me properly."

Shocked into submission, I quickly yelp "yes, Madame Rost!"

"Madame Rost nods. "It will take a moment to process you paperwork. It is a pity you could not have gotten it in sooner." The last bit is said derisively, and she looks like not filling out the forms sooner was meant as a personal insult to her. But then, if I had known her when I got the packet, I probably would have waited to do it, just to piss her off.

Realizing that I'm glaring, I try to tone down the annoyance my blue eyes are surely oozing.

"I apologize, Madame Rost."

"As you should," she sniffs. Thank Merlin my room will be all the way up on the sixth floor, far away from Madame Pretentious here. My heart goes out to the poor firsties that have to live in such close proximity to her.

"Now, while we wait, I'll explain some things to you," Madame Rost sneers. "Today lunch will be served from eleven to twelve-thirty, in the parlor of each wing. Before you eat, you will need to change out of _those_," she glares disdainfully at my sweats, "and into your school robes. Dinner will be served at six o'clock sharp in the main dining hall and end promptly at seven. The start of term ball is being hosted in the grand ballroom from nine in the evening until midnight. Curfew is twelve-thirty."

My head is spinning, she's rattled off so many times, and I let out a soft sigh of relief when she informs me that all the information is posted on a bulletin board in the parlor.

"Classes will begin at noon tomorrow to account for the late evening. Your papers should be finishing now-" the tray of paperwork she stuck my forms in makes a sound like a tea kettle's whistle, interrupting Madame Rost's lecture.

She hands me a new set of papers, tapping the top sheet with a claw-like acid green nail. "This is your room assignment, as well as a map of the school and your schedule. One of your roommates will have a school rule book."

I nod, murmur "Yes, Madame Rost," then skedaddle up the stairs that spiral around the tower's perimeter, feeling her eyes bore into my back until I reach the second landing.

Third landing.

Fourth landing. Only two more to go now, and I'm fit to bursting with anticipation and nerves.

Fifth landing. Just twenty more steps.

And now I'm on the sixth landing, surrounded by ten uninviting doors. As I walk towards number seven, I'm reminded of the fact that at Hogwarts, I never had to make friends; my cousins and Teddy were all I needed.

Little noise escapes from under the crack of door number seven but I'm positive that it being empty is far to much to hope for. Merlin, this is worse than quidditch trials.

I knock.

**AN: Okay guys, I'm sorry, but this story has had all of two reviews and I'm getting discouraged. Alot of you have favorited and put this story on author alert, but if I don't get any reviews I'll take it down. Thanks, hope your enjoying this!**


	7. Chapter 7

I needn't have worried about meeting my roommates. The dorm is devoid of all human beings. Not to say that it's empty, however. Four house elves are buzzing around, making me nervous with their rapid flurry of pint-sized activity.

Wondering why they are so active right now (surely, my roommates can't have created that much of a mess in the hour they've occupied the palace?) I step into the room, allowing the door to swing silently shut behind me.

Immediately I'm accosted by one of the house elves. She (I think it's a she but with house elves it's always hard to tell) is tiny, even by elf standards, and has a small, perfectly round nose that is a peculiar shade of olive green.

"Mademoiselle," she squeaks, "I is Ollie. I is going to be Mademoiselle's personal elf while you is at Beauxbatons." Crap.

Seeing my disgruntled face, Ollie furrows her high forehead and chirps worriedly "Is Mademoiselle alright? Ollie is sorry if she is not a good enough elf, she can get switched…"

Ollie looks indescribably sad and remorseful and I feel immediately bad. "No, um, Ollie, I'm sure that you'll be, um, plenty good," the elf's disproportionately large ears wiggle hopefully. It's disconcerting how they move them like that.

I really should dismiss Ollie. How shamed would Aunt Hermione be if after all her years of working to improve elf rights with S.P.E.W. (the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare) and in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, her niece was found with a house elf under her employ? The press would have a fieldday with it.

I remember, once, when I was six or seven, right after Louis was born, that Mum and Aunt Hermione had the mother of all rows about it. They've never really gotten on but that…Well, after that I understood why having parents that quarreled would be so bad.

Some poor little elf had come to our house and said that his family had fallen out of favor and dissmissed him, and would we please keep him on? Mum was feeling quite overwhelmed, what with a new baby and two little girls and Dad gone in Eygept and all, so of course she accepeted.

About a week later Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron and everyone came to visit and Aunt Hermione saw the elf and went utterly beserk. It wasn't so much that she was angry Mum had an elf, if I remember correctly, as she was worried that the Prophet would find out and she'd end up getting shit for it. Eventually Mum ended up relenting and I think the elf works at Hogwarts now.

I always feel a bit sorry for my cousins when I think about that story. Their parents played such a prominent role in the second war that now they're practically bigger celebrities than The Weird Sisters. Their kids live under constant scrutiny from the papparrazzi. I don't have it as bad, but Mum still gets those annoying calls from Witch Weekly, asking for pictures and an interview everytime Dominique or Louis or I have a birthday. My poor Aunt Ginny has to pull strings at the Prophet (she's their senior quidditch coresspondent) if she and Uncle Harry want to go out to dinner without being swarmed by cameras.

On the other hand of my dillema, Ollie looked so sad and forlorn when she thought I was unhappy, and I've already told her she's fine. I'd hate to crush her elfish little heart. And, having a personal house elf would be pretty cool, now that I think of it. Oh, I'm a terrible niece.

"yeah, um…I suppose I'll change into my school robes now then, Ollie. If that won't disrupt your, um cleaning, I suppose." I haven't a clue how you're supposed to adress a house elf, but I figure being polite is always the best course.

Ollie's bulbous green eyes light up happily. "Not at all, Mademoiselle! Ollie will help you, if Mademoiselle likes."

"No, I don't think that will be neccassary, Ollie," I tell her as my eyes rove over the room, trying to find my school trunk. It's much bigger than my dorm at Hogwarts. In the corner to the right of the door there's a sitting area set up with a elegant little mahagony coffee table and a set of stiff looking armchairs, upholstered in blue damask. Four cannopy beds dominate the rest of the space and in the farthest cornner a laquered screen obscures what I'm assuming is a makeshift dressing room.

Ollie darts into the center of the room and I lose track of her amidst the three other elves whizzing about. Now that I've got a chance to watch them, I can see that they are carrying an assortment of school supplies and personal items; occupied unpacking for their mistresses. France must have one hell of a high sales tax to fund such a luxurious school program.

Ollie reappears at my side, holding a pile of pale blue silk that nearly overwhelms her slight frame. She wraps her creepily long, thin fingers around one of mine and tows me off the threshhold, into the heart of the room and then behind the screen.

The space that was hidden by the screen is much bigger than I expected, complete with a large armoir and one of those odd little table things where rich girls aply their makeup. It's even got a mirror rimmed in lights. An open door that was shielded from my view earlier leads to a spacious bathroom, outfitted with a jacuzzi tub and glistening snow white tiles. Lordy, this is nicer than my bedroom at home!

Ollie, who's still glowing with pride at not being dissmissed, takes the packet Madame Rost gave me and say's she'll put it on my desk. I nod blankly, overwhelmed by the sumptuous 'dormitory.' As if it can be called that! This is more like a five star hotel than any dorm I've ever stayed in!

"And I is just going to put this," Ollie takes my shoulderbag from where it is hanging in my limp grasp, " in side of the armoir."

"Oh!" my manners reawaken me from my luxury-induced trance, "No, Ollie, don't do that. The other girls might be a little annoyed if I claimed closet space before any of them got a chance!"

that exclamation causes Ollie to titter a bit nervously. "Not to worry, Mademmoiselle, the dresser is charmed! Here, Ollie will show you." She turns to the armoir and says, in her high squeak of a voice, "Elizabeth Holland!" Then Ollie reaches up and grabs the brass handle, pulling the door wide.

And assortment of pastel silks and ruched lace swells up in my line of sight, a collection of gowns and tailored school robes that certainly are not mine. There's not a scrap of denim or cotton in sight, which makes me wonder about my new roommie. No one in their right mind would get on a broom wearing taffeta. I think I'm beginging to see where Blake derived all those annoyingly sexist ideals.

I'm still puzzled about the wardrobe's enchantment, though. Perhaps it's that it's insides are much larger than it's outward appearances would belie, because all those pretty blouses and skirts should _not_ be able to occupie so little space.

Ollie puches the doors closed again, having to struggle a bit with a puff of tulle that refuses to be shut away.

"Victorie Weasley."

Oh, so the elf can say my name right, but the snotty old dorm matron can't? I see how it is.

The wardrobe reopens to a completely new interior. I smile as Ollie hangs up my bag, finally understanding the enchantment. My marachino cherry jeans are now folded neatly in the armoir's base, barely visible under a pile of cotton tee shirts and next to them my quidditch gear is piled more neatly than it ever was at home.

"Thanks, Ollie!" but my elf is already gone.

I pull on my school robes, savoring the feeling of silk sliding over my bare skin. But now I'm confused. Because this is defintiley not the basic robe I bought in Madam Malkin's shop. That robe was a little loose, with the unfalttering cut of any school uniform.

This one fits as though it was made for me, and it's got tiny pearl buttons from the nape of my neck to the small of my back. Oh! I remember seeing Gabe's silver plated sewing scissors and pin cushion next to my hair brush this morning. Then I didn't think anything of it, but now I'm wondering how late she was up, modifying my clothes so they'd fit to a T and be more suitable for a photo shoot than everyday wear. I'll have to be sure and thank her. Hopefully, the other girls won't think I'm a snob because I have tailored robes. Then again, compared to all the expensive lables and designer tags I spotted in my brief glimpse into Elizabeth's closet, somehow I don't think it's going to be much of a problem.

I slip out of my new bedroom/luxury suite with the intention of getting a bite to eat, happy to be away from the elves' frenzied cleaning. Seriously, they're like maids on steroids and it makes me twitchy.

"What the hell is this supposed to be,Blake?" the girl has a throaty voice that's loaded with barely controlled anger.

"Since when do you call me Blake?" Blake's voice floats down from the seventh floor landing. Git.

"Since you turned into a dick, that's when!" I'm really should go downstairs. It's really not my business, why she's yelling a Blake.

"You didn't seem to have a problem with me last year, Rowena." Merlin, he's irking me and I'm not even involved in this little spat.

There's a muffled thump. Then…"What the fuck Ro!"

"Oh, shut up! I didn't even hit you that hard. And you had it coming anyways." I'm liking this girl more and more.

"Bitter, are we?" Blake sounds a little annoyed and I'm amazed. True, I've only known him a day or so, but in that time, Blake has never once lost his cool arrogance. The girl must have talent to provoke him to cussing _and_ showing emotion.

"I didn't drag you up here so you could nurse your ego, Blake. I want to know why I'm the only player who got tryout infortmation with their school letter. I've been on the team twice as long as some of the boys, but I don't see any open chaser positions."

Blake laughs, all haughty superiority again. "Are you kidding, Rowena? Did you really think I was going to keep you on the team after last year?"

I wonder what she did to piss him off so badly. Oh my god. It's just dawned on me that he's implied that it was his descion wether or not to put her on the quidditch team. Meaning he's either capitain or co-capitain. Damn!

"That was between us, you bastard! I'm better than any of the new kids and you know it!"

"You _were,_" -he puts extra emphesis on the word and I can here the smirk in his voice- "also the only girl on the team. Some of _my_ players didn't like that."

"Oh, what the hell! Fine. _Fine_. If that's how you want it, Blake, I'll try out and I'll kick every one of _your_ player's asses to freaking Belgium," the girl hisses vhemently.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, love," Blake calls after her.

I can practically feel her storm down the elegant marble steps.

Well, crap. I'm about to be caught eavesdropping. Think, Vicky, think! At the last moment, I turn on my heel and atempt to slip back into my room.

To bad I'm just a moment late.

"What do you think you're doing?" the girl's odviously still irked and she's letting it slip into her tone.

I try sounding nonchalant. "Um…going into my room?"

"Wha- oh. right. Sorry. I just thought…Well, never mind. That's my room, too." The girl flips a curtain of inky, shoulder length hair out of her lake blue eyes.

Extending a calloused hand, she introduces herself. "Rowena Jean."

I grasp her hand, taking her in as I murrmur, "Victorie Weasley."

Rowena's tall, and not just compared to me. She could probably stand about even with Tristan, and he's quite lanky. Although she's attractive enough, she doesn't have the delicate beauty some girls do. Instead of dainty features and a twenty-five inch waist she's got a solid build and broad shoulders. You can tell she's athletic; her arms have thick ropes of muscle and her face is a golden brown you only get riding a broomstick. I'd mark her as a chaser but judging by what she said to Blake earlier, I'd be wrong.

"You going down to lunch?" I say, because, what better way to find out what she and mr. arsehole up there were quarreling about than over some delicious French food. That, and I'm starving.

Rowena nods but makes no motion to follow me down the stairs.

I look back at her expectantly.

She raises one dark brow. "Didn't you need something from the room, or was that just a cover for your eavesdropping?"

Well, this is awkward. I figure I may as well fess up, seeing as she'll just think I'm even more of a sod if I deny it.

"Yeah, um…sorry? I just don't really like Blake and hearing you tell him off-"

"Enough said. Just remember that eavesdropping is impolite and spreading things you hear is worse." And with that, Rownea breezes past me, nose in the air, the picture of aristocracy in her powder blue robes.

I think I'm getting off to a great start here. Not.

**Author's Note: Well, and don't I feel angsty now! Thank you all sososo much for the lovely reviews; it was like getting a nice warm virtual hug! Special thanks to Einstiens Totcher, becasue they left me a multitude of very nice reviews that all made me smile deliriously! This story won't be coming down any time soon. Thank you all so much, and drop me a line if you've got any feedback ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

I meet my other two roommates while I'm eating lunch.

Eddie and Tristan have called me over to sit with them, for which I'm grateful, and Blake is MIA, for which I'm grateful-er still, particularly after my encounter with Miss Jean.

"Looking lovely, Victorie."

"You too, Tristan." In all honesty, both he and Eddie are quite good looking, but the baby blue robes give them a bit of a…well, let's say, effeminate look.

Tristan grins as though he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"I'm starved," Eddie announces, completely out of the blue.

In response to his declaration, three house elves bob over to our table, carrying trays loaded with the kind of fare you would expect to see in a painting of a romanticized tea party.

Eddie relieves one elf of nearly half his load of tiny, crust-less sandwiches while Tristan doles out tiny portions of fruit salad.

"Merlin, Eddie!" I exclaim as he begins steadily working his way through a bludger-sized mound of sandwiches. "The way you eat, you'd think your parents didn't feed you."

Eddie laughs but his twinkling blue eyes are suddenly guarded. Tristan's quicksilver smile freezes; I can tell I've raised their metaphorical hackles. What did I say? I reexamine my comment but it seems innocent enough.

"His mum is a pretty terrible cook," Tristan allows, covering up the moment of apprehension he and Eddie seem to have shared.

Eddie snorts, at ease once again. "Um, 'pretty terrible'? Her meatloaf is a bloody lethal weapon!"

"Anyways, Vicky- Can I call you Vicky? Anyways, you ought to fill up now because dinner will be light," Tristan tells me.

I nod but glare skeptically at my plate, wondering how the hell a girl's supposed to fill up on this low-cal stuff.

"Where's Ryan got to?" Eddie asks.

Tristan smirks. "I saw Rowena dragging him off someplace. They're probably dukeing it out in some corridor or another. Either that or he's nursing his bruised ego."

I become very interested in a piece of green melon.

"I thought they were being civil again," Eddie muses. "She's certainly over it and Ryan's dating Penelope Hayes at the moment, isn't he?"

"Sadly," Tristan scowls. "Although, that's a very liberal use of the word 'dating.' I think 'snogging-buddies' is a more apt term."

I laugh. "You to are worse gossips than most of the girls at Hogwarts!"

Tristan tries to arrange his features in a dignified manner and says stiffly, "We're simply debating one of our mate's relationships."

"Which is gossiping."

"She's got you there, mate," Eddie chuckles. "But, Penny and Ryan are quite the hot topic, in our defense." Wow. Would it be considered rude to ask Eddie about his sexual orientation so soon after meeting him?

"Oh, speak of the devil," Tristan mutters. I follow his line of sight to the girl's staircase.

A tall, brown haired girl is making her way towards our table. She's pretty, but it seems that everyone at this school is. What makes her stand out is her stature. She carries herself regally, with more arrogance than even Blake has. Her green eyes are alight with confidence and exude a sense of entitlement you'd expect from royalty, but not a school girl.

Eddie and Tristan don't seem to like her much, which is surprising, because to me she basically seems like the female version of Blake.

Halfway across the polished marble floor, Penelope lays her hand on the broad shoulder of a boy who could be her twin. He rises to follow her and together they continue across the parlor.

"Quick," Tristan mumbles out of the side of his mouth, "look fat, guys. If there's no room she can't sit down."

"Don't make eye contact with her, Victorie," Eddie says as he subtly extends his arms to take up more table space.

Their efforts to avoid this girl, who's smaller and slighter than either of them, are almost laughable. Then again, Penelope doesn't look like the kind of girl you'd want to piss off.

"Hello, Penny, Grayson," Tristan addresses the pair when they reach us, behaving so cordially you wouldn't believe he'd just been trying to fatten up so they wouldn't be able to join us. Merlin, he's a splendid actor.

Eddie, not so much. He just inclines his head at them, looking resigned.

Penelope spreads her full red lips into a catty smile and the guy, who I'm assuming is Grayson, greets the boys coolly.

There's a moment of slightly awkward silence while Penelope looks expectantly at Tristan, her eyes wide in a mockery of an innocent expression.

She sighs, seeming disappointed. "Well, I was hoping you'd introduce us without being prompted, Tristan, but since your social skills seem to have grown rusty over the summer…" she lets her voice trail off.

Tristan bristles, but feigns carelessness. "Victorie, this is Penelope and Grayson Hayes. Grayson, Penny… Victorie Weasley."

I stand up, extending my hand for them to shake. Instead, Grayson presses his lips to it.

Ooookkkkaayyyy…

Penelope stares down her nose at me, appraising.

Finally, she seems satisfied with her evaluation and smiles again, though with even less genuine friendliness than the first time. "I'm sure I'd love to get to know you, Victorie. Maybe you'd like to accompany me shopping later today?" There's a challenge somewhere in her words, though I'm not sure what it is. And on a side note, who the hell even says 'accompany?'

Eddie jumps in before I can accept or reject her invitation. "Sorry, Penny, but Victorie's already agreed to come with Tristan and me for a little jaunt around the grounds. She's an exchange student, so we're showing her around."

Penelope smirks, looking at Eddie from beneath dark lashes. "Pity. Well, come along then, Grayson, we've got other people to see to."

Grayson grins cockily at me. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Victorie. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other."

"I'm sure you won't," I mutter at his retreating back.

For some reason this strikes both Eddie and Tristan as intensely funny and they burst into raucous laughter. A few people sitting nearby turn to stare before returning to their 'meals.' Psh. More like snacks.

I scrunch up my nose and glare a bit until the boys sober up enough for me to scold them.

"And you two! What if I wanted to go shopping, hmm? When did I agree to this jaunt around the grounds?"

They both look taken aback but unabashed. Seeming confused, Tristan says "why on earth would you want to do that?"

"I wouldn't, but that's not the point!"

"Look, Victorie, Penny's just not the type of girl you'd want to spend the day with," Eddie soothes.

"Oh, fine," I huff. "Just please, let me decide that for myself next time."

Turns out "next time" comes pretty darn fast.

Eddie's just finishing up his sandwiches (Tristan and I, having taken normal sized portions, are already done) when a pair of girls sidle up to our table.

The one on the right offers us a sugary smile. With her big blue eyes, small rosebud mouth and creamy complexion, she looks like a porcelain doll. The blonde curls tumbling to her shoulders are the least orderly aspect of her appearance and even they are neatly contained by a length of blue ribbon.

Her friend is a blonde as well, but her dark eyebrows say the color's something other than natural. If it weren't for the freckles dancing across her cheeks and her expressive hazel eyes, I'd say the girl looked a tad washed out by her flaxen locks.

"Hello," girl-on-the-right says cheerfully. "We were told we could find our new roommate in the company of two unscrupulous young men, and you lot fit the bill."

"Ahh! Lizzy," Tristan cries in mock distress. "Your words wound me!"

The girl smacks him playfully on the shoulder. "Don't call me that, you twit! You know I hate it!" Turning to me she rolls her eyes and says "Boys!" like we've known each other for ages.

I have to laugh, she's so innocently friendly.

"So," she says, now completely focused on me, "You're in room seven on the sixth floor, right?"

"That's right."

Her face lights up. "Splendid! We'll be your roommates then! I'm Elizabeth Holland, and this," she gestures at girl-on-the-left, "is Camille Gramont."

"Victorie Weasley."

"Beth and I were wondering if you'd like us to show you around a bit today, seeing as we haven't got classes." Camille's voice is clear and full of depth, the kind of that's just a breath away from singing. She sounds smug saying Elizabeth's nickname, like it's a privilege I should be coveting.

I deliberate for a moment. It's just now beginning to dawn on me that we have an entire day to just laze about and, in the case of the returning students, reacquaint themselves with their friends after a summer apart.

Well, why not? Elizabeth and Camille seem a buttload friendlier than Rowena Jean or Penelope Hayes and I _would_ like to have some non-male acquaintances that don't shoot me dirty, suspicious glares from across the room. Not that Rowena or Penelope is doing that. (Well, maybe Rowena is, but they keep being intercepted by some poor first year who's probably wet himself by this point.) Besides, I can't think of a polite way to turn them down.

"Sure."

"Great!" Elizabeth seems sincerely pleased by my acceptance so I'm nearly certain I wasn't just invited out of politeness or charity.

I stand up and my roommates twine their arms around mine, leading me away from the little safe haven of a table and out into the midst of the parlor. Gulp.


	9. Chapter 9

I've just learned that I'm rich. As in, rolling-in-bloody-galleons rich.

Well, that's not strictly true. I'm rolling in merits, not galleons. Elizabeth and Camille are explaining it to me as I stare at the little piece of plastic that rests in my palm.

Madame Rost gave it to me a moment ago, wearing an expression akin to pain as she pressed it into my palm. I don't think she likes me much.

The "merit card" is colored royal blue and in the bottom corner the school emblem flashes gold. My name is written across the top in elegant gold letters and underneath is a number, also in gold figures, that's got way too many zeros to be correct. Ten, to be exact. And three nines in front of them.

"Merits are like the…. Oh, what do they call them, Cami?" Elizabeth is asking.

"House points," Camille supplies.

"Yes, the house points of Beauxbatons," Elizabeth continues. "Except, instead of having them for an entire house or wing, they are individual. Also, they are used like money while you are in school. You buy things with them. You can earn the merits by answering questions right or getting a good grade, things like that. They're docked every time a professor reprimands you or you're put in detention."

"Wait," I say, confused, "so how do you two have any merits, if classes haven't even started yet? And why the bloody hell have I got so many?"

"Don't swear, Victoire," Elizabeth tuts, sounding remarkably Grandmother Delacour-ish for a sixteen year old girl. "It doesn't become you."

Answering my question, Camille says, "The merits are cumulative. So if I had a hundred left over from last year, I'd start this year with a hundred. They can also be inherited. Do you have any relatives or siblings who've gone here?"

I think for a second. I'm fairly certain Mum went here but…Merlin, she must have been the biggest nerd on the face of the earth to rack up all these merits!

"Yeah, I think my mum's whole side of the family went here."

"What was her maiden name?" Elizabeth inquires curiously.

"Delacour. Why?"

Camille giggles. "No wonder you've got so many merits! The Delacours are one of those old families, like the Hayeses, the Blakes and the Hollands. So you're basically an heiress."

"Not to mention the Fleur Delacour was the champion in the last tri-wizard tournament! I heard she got loads of merits just for having the goblet choose her. And the Gramonts are one of 'those families,' too. Cami's just too polite to say so," Elizabeth says, making Camille blush.

Well, alright then. I'm fairly certain this whole merit system is a bit out of whack. I mean, just because your parents were smart doesn't mean you'll be, and it's not fair that kids who's families have been in the school for generations should get a leg up.

Not that I'm arguing, though. Cause I'm now loaded.

"Wait… Did you say the Blakes? Like Orion Blake?" I ask, horrified. It seems to me that kids with merits (and, probably, real money) are on top of the social food chain here. Considering that I've spent a good deal of the last twenty-four hours pissing Blake off, that's probably not such a good thing for me.

"Yes. So you've met him, then?" Camille asks me.

Elizabeth laughs her soft, well-bred laugh. "Of course she has, Cami! Everyone's met Ryan. And she was sitting with Tristan and Edward, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," I confirm, because I'm getting tired of being talked about as though I'm not here. "I was in the same carriage as him."

"What did you think of him?" Camille wants to know.

I shrug. "I thought he was a bit of an arse." _And that's being kind_, I add mentally.

Elizabeth and Camille both stop to look at me, blue and brown eyes wide.

Elizabeth recovers her composure first. "That's a bit, erm, blunt." I'm thinking she's that type of girl who never says a word against anybody, no matter how much of a jerk they are.

"Blunt, but true," Camille mutters. I smile gratefully at her.

Elizabeth sniffs.

"You know she's right!" Camille wheedles.

"True it may be, but that's no reason to go shouting it where anybody could hear you. And Ryan can really be a darling sometimes!" Elizabeth snaps back.

I roll my eyes and scoff a bit. I've yet to see Blake's 'darling' side. "I don't care if he knows I what I think of him. I'd tell him to his face the first chance I got."

"Merlin, Victoire!" Elizabeth gasps, looking horrified. "Please don't do that! It'd be the ruin of you!"

I sincerely doubt that, but both she and Camille look so earnest that I promise not to, just to placate them.

We move on to safer topics, and I'm able to adopt an expression of polite interest and not say a word. While my roommates jabber about dress robes and parties I didn't go to, I let my mind wander out to the Hogwarts quidditch pitch.

The wind's in my hair, tugging it free from its braid, and the quaffle's familiar weight is resting between my palms.

"What color is your dress, Victoire?" Elizabeth's bell chime of a voice slips into my reverie.

"Wronski feint," I mutter distractedly.

"Pardon?" Elizabeth inquires, politely.

"Oh! Um…sorry. I wasn't really paying attention. What was the question?" I blush.

Camille laughs at me. "Yeah, I think we got that when you said the color of your dress was some quidditch move. Beth wanted to know what color it is, in case we see anything that matches it while we're shopping."

"Oh, so that's what it was! I thought she was talking about some sort of disease," Elizabeth giggles.

I shrug, unabashed. "My dress is gold, but I won't be buying anything. I didn't think to bring much pocket money with me." And the few sickles I do have are being saved for enough sweets to hold me through until Christmas. If all the meals here are as "light" as lunch was, I'm going to need them.

"That's quite alright; you won't need the money anyways," Elizabeth says, looking amused at my befuddled expression.

"The school shops all take merits," Camille clarifies.

"Oh. So, you mean, there's actually things worth buying there? Not just, I don't know, quills and spirit wear or something?"

The girls share a look and say "definitely," at the same time.

Hmmm. So not only am I up to my ears in merits, I may not have to spend any actual money on my Christmas presents this year. This situation is looking better all the time.

"So where are all these shops?" I ask.

"They're all down in the school's basement," I'm told.

Doesn't that just sound charming.

While I was daydreaming about the quidditch pitch, we turned down one of the five main passages leading out of the entrance hall. Unlike the other four, this one leads not to a wing of dormitories, but to the main body of the school.

Walking along, I feel almost as though I'm in the bowels of some great, marble beast. Or I would, if we weren't being buffeted about by a tide of blue swathed students.

The architecture is much like Hogwarts', but it's all done up with delicate carvings and lacey metalwork. This keeps Beauxbatons from adopting Hogwarts somewhat formidable, severe nature. It also helps that everything is built of glowing white marble and dark wood that's been polished mirror-bright, rather than slate gray stone.

Stained glass windows bathe everything in chinks of red and blue and green, saving us from going snow blind, what with all the ivory surfaces.

Elizabeth and Camille usher me through a pair of thick doors that swing open of their own accord, right onto yet another sweeping staircase.

The stream of blue silk thins out here, somewhat, but a few students lounge about, chatting in small groups. My roommates stop to giggle with one such set and, while I try to pay attention to the conversation, I quickly give up and let my eyes play over the (mostly female) teens that are coming and going.

A posse of exchange students, talking animatedly in some Asian dialect, stamp past, and over their heads I see the impressive figure of Penelope Hayes. She's alone, which is odd. While I can understand why no one would want her company, girls like that generally don't travel alone.

I'm about to wave (my mum taught me to be polite and not acknowledging her would be a pretty obvious snub) when I realize that I've sort of blown her off. Shit.

I snap my head around so fast that I'm in danger of whiplash, hoping she didn't spot me. I think I was a bit late, though. The malice marring her pretty features was unmistakable. Or maybe Penelope always looks like that. I'll need to ask Tristan later.

At the foot of the staircase, my jaw drops for the umpteenth time today.

A plethora of shops and kiosks are spread across the basement. Merlin! It's like Diagon Alley was cut down just a tad and then shoved into Beauxbatons cellar.

Brightly colored posters hawking every kind of ware plaster big glass shop fronts and hang from little carts laden with magical trinkets.

Camille lets out a happy little sigh before diving down into the organized chaos of the Beauxbatons shopping center.

"C'mon," Elizabeth urges happily, "let's go make sure she doesn't spend all those merits her great-great grandma worked so hard to earn!"


End file.
